


The Things You Do (Should Be Illegal)

by Lisgreomg



Series: All the hockey players are in Beacon Hills [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-06 22:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisgreomg/pseuds/Lisgreomg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny Briere didn't mean for his life to turn into a cliche. But he's a washed up could-have-been hockey player turned high school teacher in the town of Beacon Hills. And he's pretty sure he's in love with one of his students. </p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things You Do (Should Be Illegal)

Danny Briere didn’t mean for his life to turn into a cliche. But what’s that thing about God laughing when you plan things? He’d been a star on his high school hockey team, got a scholarship to all the best college teams. (And he never tells anyone why he picks Quebec, because the truth is he’d fallen in love with French in high school, and took it even further here, learning everything he could, letting the endings of words drop from his mouth like living poetry.)  He loved college, collecting friends and teammates like pollen. Things were amazing, perfect and it was his last year he was all set to be drafted, first round.

And then he was in front of the net on the bottom of a pile and his knee was on fucking fire, and everything was over. His friends vanished, his girl left, and his team was winning the championship without him, flushed and touting the trophy like it was the fucking Cup, and Danny watched from the hospital bed, feeling like he was going to throw up.

His coach had come to visit shortly after Danny got the final answer that he’d never play again, not without possibly crippling himself permanently. The man had sat down next to him, passed him the number of a therapist, and a packet of grad school applications. Danny remembers staring at the man like he was crazy, until coach had gruffly pointed out that just because he couldn’t play hockey didn’t mean he was dead. And if he was dead, he was a good dammed wimp, who died from something as stupid as a wrecked knee?

Once the man left, he filled out a number of applications, and set an appointment for the counselor. 

It took some work, and not one or two minor breakdowns, before Danny figured out what he wanted to do and where he wanted to go. He got his teaching degree, and a masters. He got a reputation during student teaching for being able to calm down even the craziest of kids, and he went home. Danny had grown up in Beacon Hills, and he knew that even though he’d gotten so close to the NHL there was no way anyone in town aside from his parents would know (it wasn’t lacrosse). He wanted to be someplace familiar. Travelling, the idea of being traded, had always been the worst part of hockey for him, and if he wasn’t going to be playing hockey he’d like to stay some place he loved, a place that was his. And Beacon Hills, despite its flaws, was all his. 

He got a job at the college just outside of town, teaching a few intro courses, and when that wasn’t enough of a challenge, grabbed a second job as a high school teacher. He was blackmailed by his new therapist and his principal to start co-coaching the hockey team with Staal. He doesn’t like to talk about it really. Manipulative assholes. 

Of course, once he stepped back out on the ice, he couldn’t give it up again, and if he couldn’t play himself he’d make sure these kids could. 

This year he’s 28, teaching three classes at the local college, two days a week, and one class five days at the high school. He coaches hockey because he loves hockey, and he only ever makes emergency appointments with his therapist anymore (usually during playoffs when he feels like he’s going to explode).

And he’s in love with an eighteen year old. 

It’s possible he should make an appointment to talk to Dr. Bill about that, he thinks as he watches Claude skate up the ice, laughing. Eric nudges him, breaking his concentration. He turns to look just to catch Eric’s face as he smirks a little, pointing to the bench where Kaner and Jon are currently having a screaming match. He blinks. Kaner is serious about hockey, sure, but he’s so laid back in general that it takes a lot to get him fired up about anything like he is right now. Maybe Jon really is going to shank Kaner for the C.

He raises an eyebrow at Eric, who blows his whistle obligingly. The kids change lines quickly, and Kaner and John are on fucking fire, passing back and forth, tape to tape, like it’s easy. They’re not playing against Duncs and Seabs, so it is easier than it could be, but not _that_ easy. They’ve barely been on the ice twenty seconds when Kaner catches a deflection that Jon just snapped against Ryan’s pad, and shoves it over the same pad. Danny sees the puck hit the back of the net, and blows his air horn, making Eric scowl at him. He smirks a bit, but is distracted by Kaner and Jon, who seem to still be shouting at each other rather than celebrating. He frowns.

Eric is laughing though, and kicks up his heels on the chair in front of him. They’re sitting in the stands, because kids will always play more honestly when there are no coaches in the box, and it’s not like people get together to watch hockey practice in Beacon Hills. Eric nods to the still shouting forwards, “They’re smiling.”

Danny squints down at them, and yes, they are. “Weird.”

Eric shrugs, “We’ve got a weird team. You may have noticed.” Danny doesn’t have to look at the player’s bench to know what Eric’s referring to, but he does, because he wants to. Sure enough Claude is sitting there, grinning and staring right at him. He can’t help the way his mouth curls in response, even if it means Eric laughing at him again. “How many months left in this year again?”

The exact number of days is on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t say it, knows Eric will just laugh harder at him, “Less than yesterday,” he says instead, standing up, because it doesn’t look like Kaner and Jon are going to stop on their own. Eric is still chuckling softly when he blows the air horn again. “Good play kids. Ryan, you’ve got to control those rebounds better. Kaner stop scaring the new kid away.”

Jon smirks a little, skating backwards, away from Kaner, “I’m not even a little bit scared of him.”

The bench ‘oooohhhs’ dramatically, and Danny rolls his eyes, fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose like his father used to, “Well, since that would be a truly pathetic fight to be forced to watch, I’m going to stop it there. Go shower everyone. I’ll see you Friday.”

They file out of the rink, pushing each other back and forth gently, and he’s pleased to see that everyone is shoving and getting shoved equally. This year’s team is gelling together very well. He collapses into his chair again, “Third line looks a little shaky. Might want to change that up a bit.”

“Or convince the newest kid that Hossa’s passes aren’t going to kill him.”

Danny snorts, “Good luck with that.”

Eric rolls his eyes, and they talk a bit more before Eric checks the time and stands, “Alright, I’ve got to get to class.” Eric takes classes at the university in LA, which is about an hour away. He also plays for that team. He’s another Beacon Hills kid, and he’s been volunteering as a coach for this team for longer than Danny for all that he’s only 22. From what Danny has been told, there was an incident with Kaner and a mini bar at an away game during the kid’s freshman year that convinced the school staff that there needed to be an actual teacher coaching these kids. Eric will be at the top of the draft in the summer, and Danny is only jealous of him in a vacant nostalgic way. He is going to miss him, coaching with him is fun.

Eric leaves and Danny is left alone in the rink. He takes a second to make sure he’s got everything before walking outside. He’s unsurprised to find Claude waiting just outside the doors. He feels his mouth curl up against his will as he walks over to him, “Let me guess. You don’t have a ride home?”

Claude smiles at him, and slips into French, “My parents are working and I didn’t take my car this morning.”

Danny finds himself slipping into French as well, because he can never resist, “And how many rides did you turn down from everyone else?”

Claude grins at him, completely unashamed, and Danny’s heart does a funny little jump and twist, “Only five. Kaner was still too concerned with Tazer.”

“Tazer? Oh, we’ve nicknamed Jon?”

“Kaner and Tazer. Seems to go together.” Claude says, crossing his arms over his chest, which tightens his shirt across his arms in a way that Danny should not find as seductive as he does, “So, Coach, you want to give me a ride?”

Danny rolls his eyes a little at the line, but nods, leading the way to his responsible little Volvo.

\--

Danny started teaching at Beacon Hills during Claude’s freshman year. Claude had just been moved to the city by the death of his parents, moving in with his elderly grandmother. Claude had lived in Saguenay, north of Quebec City, and he had been extremely annoyed to find out he had to take level 1 of a language. Originally he’d been in Danny’s level one French class, teenaged-ly sulky about not being able to test out, even when he was as fluent as Danny. It had taken Danny about a week of after school meetings to convince him to not waste his brain power in a class that he was never going to use, and had convinced the Spanish teacher to let him transfer. He hadn’t seen the kid after that, except for a brief glimpse in the hall now and then until Christmas time, when he walked into his office to see him leaning against the desk, with a little green and red bag in his hand.

Holiday gifts from students were always awkward Danny had been learning. But Claude seemed somehow ironically conscious of that fact, making it less awkward than it usually was. Danny would learn that Claude had that way with almost everything, making awkward or uncomfortable situations tolerable with the slight quirk of his lips.

After getting his Christmas gift Danny had wanted to know how the Spanish was going, and at some point they had slipped into French. Danny had been in a great mood (his college team had just secured their place in the playoffs) and the conversation had strayed all over the place. It wasn’t until the sound of the post school bell that Danny realized he’d been talking to a student for way longer than he probably should have been, and he felt himself blush as he started packing up his things. The ironic smile had fallen off of Claude’s face during the talk, but it reappeared again now, and Danny relaxed a little.

Claude took the friendly meeting as permission to come by Danny’s office at all hours his freshman year, continuing into his sophomore year. Danny had been a little worried about what it must look like (the classes and videos they made new teachers watch about _appropriate_ behavior stick with you), but when the principal had stopped him one day to congratulate him on helping Claude feel ‘at home’ in the new environment, he stopped worrying.

That summer Claude had started taking some language courses at the college where Danny taught, and it had just made sense to carpool back and forth. What had been a normal(ish) student-mentor relationship for the past two years grew legs in that car, metamorphosing into an actual friendship.

It wasn’t until mid-August (while attending a staff development day and resisting the urge to text Claude and whine about the waste of time) that Danny realized, with a strange lurch in the pit of his stomach, how strange it was. Teachers should not have inside jokes with a student. Teachers should not have a single student over for dinner and they probably shouldn’t be thinking about a student like Danny does, fond and amused, and managing to miss him within a few hours of not seeing him. Teachers should definitely not text students for opinions on how to decorate his new house.

He had tried to cut it back, Claude’s college classes were over so they didn’t drive together anymore, so Danny tried to slowly cut himself off from texting him. Drawing it back from multiple times a day, to once a day, to once a week. Once school started up he locked his office door more often, departing from his usual open door policy. He tried not to notice Claude trying the knob every week or so, and rolling his eyes each time it was locked, like he knew Danny was just freaking out and that he should leave him to handle his tantrum.

He should have realized that it would never work on Claude, who was more or less invulnerable to awkward situations. Claude just bided his time, like he was waiting for his shot on the ice, and just when Danny had been convinced that he wasn’t going to protest and let it go, Claude took his shot.

The doorbell rang, and he went to it, expecting pizza, only to find Claude instead. His mouth had gone bone dry immediately. Claude had rolled his eyes at him then, and shoved his way inside, “I’ve decided I’m not going to let you be stupid and self sacrificing about this.” Danny had blinked, opened his mouth to protest, to say something, but Claude was apparently serious about not letting him be stupid, because he crossed his arms over his chest, and lifted his chin, “We both want this. I mean, maybe you just clued in because all the concussions severely damaged your brain, but I’ve wanted you basically since we met. And then, this summer it,” Claude waved a hand, and Danny had realized his fingers were shaking. Claude’s whole body was shaking actually, even as he continued, sounding a little desperate now, “And I know it’s not just me. I mean. You’re nice and all, but you’re much nicer to me than anyone else. You care too. Maybe you’re not as into this as I am, and maybe that’s why you pulled away so fast, but” Claude had trailed off then, crossing his arms again, looking suddenly terrified at this prospect, before getting a determined look on his face, and checking Danny into the wall, pressing in tight against him. Danny’s hands had gone to his shoulders automatically, squeezing tight, as his stomach swooped with some unnamable emotion. He fuzzily realized Claude was actually taller than him, which shouldn't have been a surprise, but was. Claude hesitated another second, and Danny just … breathed. He had no idea what to do. His brain was swimming. Claude half smiled, tentative and brave, leaned forward, and kissed him.

If (when) Danny had thought about kissing Claude he had never thought it would be like this. He’d thought it would be hard and hot, both of them breaking through the chains of will power and desperate with it. Instead Claude kissed him softly, easily, a mixture of annoying self confidence and heartbreaking vulnerability that hit Danny right in the gut.

Danny sank against the wall, hands clenching against Claude’s shoulders, holding him tight, and then releasing, over and over as he fought the urge to let Claude push this further than it should go. After far too long (far too soon) he forced himself to pull away, letting his head bounce back against the wall. Claude was breathing hard, but smiling, brighter than Danny had ever seen him before. And fuck, Danny knew what his mouth tasted like now. He unconsciously lifted his hand to brush Claude’s lower lip, before realizing what he was doing and forcing his hand to drop. Claude’s grin widened, like Danny had just handed him the championship trophy and the game puck.

Danny pushed him away gently, feeling his stomach drop, “Claude...”

The smile dropped off Claude’s face immediately, and he sank into the couch (Jesus, the couch he’d _helped Danny pick_ ) “I don’t like this tone.”

“You’re sixteen.”

Claude smiled wryly, sinking back into the cushions, obviously not going anywhere, “I know. I was at my birthday party.”

“I’m your teacher.”

“I was there for that too.”

“I’m ten years older than you.”

“I was in math class as well.”

“I’m going to be your _coach_.”

Claude looked up at that one, grinning wide, practically bounced out of his seat, “You are? Awesome. It’s going to be so much fun. And don’t worry, we’ll keep Kaner on a tighter leash this year. No one wants a repeat of the mini bar incident.”

Danny opens his mouth to ask what he was talking about, but shook himself out of it, rubbing a hand over his face and sighing, “Claude-”

Claude was apparently done with playing around, and he became serious, “Look. I can’t do anything about my age, and neither of us want to do anything about your job, so what do you want me to do?” Danny breathed in, but couldn’t think of anything. Stop being yourself? That wasn’t much of an option either. Claude, apparently sensing his loss for words, continued, “I’m going to wait for you. I was going to anyway, since it was taking you so long to catch on. Trust your brain damage to be too much and not enough all at the same time.” He reached out and touched Danny's wrist, and Danny realized he was shaking again, couldn’t stop himself from grasping those shaking fingers and holding on tight. Claude sighed softly, in deep relief, standing to move in closer, “I’m going to wait for you. I’ll be a perfect gentleman and won’t pressure you at all. Just don’t shut me out like that again.”

Danny flexed his fingers around Claude’s, staring down at them, but he remembers being sixteen, and loving hockey like nothing else, and how easily that love had flowed into something else when it had to. He refuses to lock Claude into anything, “There’s no way to say this without being insulting-”

Claude made a little bit of a face, stepping in even closer, “You’re going to say something rude about me changing my mind right?” Danny grimaced, Claude sighed softly, “You’re not going to believe me if I tell you I’m not going to change my mind. So okay. I swear, that if, I don’t know, aliens steal my prefrontal cortex and I don’t want to wait for you anymore, I swear I will tell you. I’ll let you down easy alright?”

Danny half smiled, and hoped that was true, because if it happened he would definitely need to be let down easy. Reassured, he had let himself relax, taking that last step in closer, “Yeah. Alright.”

Claude had looked so relieved he’s almost fallen down, leaning against Danny, “Oh. Thank God.”

Danny had laughed, and gently pushed Claude back upright, “We’re going to have to be a lot more careful.”

Claude had reached out, smiled, heartbreakingly honest, and hugged him close, “I can wait,” he said, with that easy confidence that drove Danny a little crazy every time. He pulled away enough to smile teasingly, “Can you resist this jelly for two years?”

Danny had snorted, and cuffed him on the back of the head, before hugging him tightly again. He didn’t know what the chances were of Claude actually waiting for him for two years, let alone what would happen when he graduated and went to college, but for now he’d let himself believe in it.

\--

It was about a year and a half later now. Claude would be graduating in the summer (though Danny still didn’t know his college plans and was afraid to ask). They had kept rumors from spreading (to everyone but the core of the hockey team), and they were still both seemingly on the same page about what they wanted. And sometimes they drove home together from practice, fingers lightly touching on the gear shifter. It was all very middle school, but Danny kind of loved every second of it. And, from the way Claude grinned at him when he handed him a wheel of paint chips, he did too.  



End file.
